


The Crown of Atlas

by Liara_90



Category: RWBY
Genre: Arkos Not Actually Guaranteed, Blake In A Suit, Deconstruction, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Not A Harem Fic, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romance, Suit Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When strange men proclaim Crocea Mors the symbol of divine sovereignty of the Kingdom of Atlas, Jaune Arc's life is changed forever. And Pyrrha Nikos hates goodbyes.</p><p>No longer a one-shot, and still not a harem fic, at least not the way you're thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lie Ren did not get enough sleep. 

Oh, he could put on a good show of hiding it. He pulled himself out of bed every morning without fail; he never once hit the Snooze button, and rose at the same hour be it weekday or weekend. He abstained from coffee and other stimulants, lest he become dependent on them, forcing his body and mind to a state of readiness by sheer force of will. As little as he'd slept before entering Beacon Academy - when he'd burned the midnight oil cramming for the torrent of entrance exams - upon arrival he'd slept even less. For the first time in his life he had real, challenging sparring partners (who weren't Nora), and the diversity of weapons and fighting styles he'd encountered forced him to spend many sleepless nights strategizing. The homework assignments were longer and more grueling, punctuated by the occasional escapade to clear out a Grimm nest in some corner of Vale. Nora had her 'needs'. And Jaune snored.

So when a heavy pounding on their dorm room door jolted Ren from his sleep at 5:12 AM one Saturday evening it took a lifetime of self-discipline to avoid just squeezing StormFlower's triggers in the general direction of the noise. Insomnia had kept him awake until after three, and he had only a few more hours before the rest of JNPR would be awake and scrambling for Saturday-morning pancakes. So who, by Dust, had the tenacity to interrupt his precious REM sleep?

"I'm coming," barked Ren as the pounding continued, removing the wishful possibility that he'd just dreamt it. He quickly surveyed the dorm to make sure everyone was mostly decent. Jaune and Nora were both sound asleep and buried beneath their blankets but Pyrrha was blearily rubbing her eyes, wearing an oversized T-shirt with Sanctum Academy's logo splashed across it. Ren flashed an empty palm her ways, signaling that there was no need for her to get up. Too irate to get dressed properly, Ren strolled to the door in his boxes, sliding the bolt and opening the door a crack.

"Is this the dormitory for Team JNPR?" asked a man in a black three-piece suit. There were at least three more similarly-dressed men behind him, from what Ren could see, none under the age of sixty. Ren was silent for a few seconds, weighing the probability that these men were deranged cultists, but their was an earnest anxiety to their voices.

"Yes," Ren answered, monosyllabically. Before he could react he found himself flat on his back, the door flung wide open, and patent-leather shoes barely avoiding trampling him as they stormed into the dormitory. Someone managed to find the light switch, and the bright, artificial lighting momentarily blinded Ren. Pulling himself to his feat, he blinked repeatedly to make sure he was seeing a half-dozen suited men clamoring around Jaune Arc's bed like he was some treasure of ancient lore.

"Can I help you?" demanded Pyrrha, shoving her way between the men and Jaune, who had unconsciously burrowed his head beneath a pillow. Her tone had little of its usual politeness, and Ren spotted glimmers of a blank aura around her fingertips, ready to summon Miló and Akoúo̱ at a moment's notice.

"Oh, hey Pyrrha," said Jaune, rolling over in his bed. His voice was still dreamy, like he was shaking off a tranquilizer, his blond hair a tousled mess. "I was just having this dream about you-"

"Jaune Arc, is it really you?" demanded one of the men, who had only a sprinkling of gray hair remaining and glasses as thick as wine bottles.

"Wha- what?" He tumbled out of bed, taking most of the blanket with him.

"Where is the sword? Where is Crocea Mors?"

"In the closet! Pyrrha, help me!"

While the gaggle of men sprinted to the closet Pyrrha made her way over to Jaune, lending him a hand. He was still dazed and confused, and his pajamas didn't exactly provide the defensive reassure his armor did. Pyrrha placed a hand gently on his chest - taking a small pleasure in whatever fleeting physical contact she stole - and put herself between the men and Jaune.

"Uh, hello, can we help you?" Pyrrha repeated, audibly annoyed, waving at the men's backs. They seemed to have found what they were looking for and were huddled together, murmuring whispers. "Do you know these people, Jaune?"

"I swear, Pyrrha, I've never seen them before in my life."

A flicker of movement caught Pyrrha's eye, confirming that the ruckus was beginning to awaken Nora. With an exchange of significant looks and a silent nod, Ren and Pyrrha decided to resolve this before their resident Valkyrie realized strange men had touched Magnhild. She could be _extremely_ territorial.

"Excuse me, I don't want to be rude, but-" Pyrrha closed the distance between them and her with one long stride, planting a hand firmly on one of the men's padded shoulders. Before she could get any further the men rounded on her as one, three pairs of hands clutching Crocea Mors. Pyrrha took one step back, instinctively slipping into a fighting stance.

"Mister Arc, do you know what this is?" asked one of the men holding the sword, bony fingers clutched tightly around it.

"Um, an old sword? My great-great-grandfather used it to fight in the War. It's also a shield."

"Crocea Mors is far more than just an 'old sword'," replied another man, with an accent so pompous Pyrrha was sure he was faking it. "Crocea Mors is the embodied symbol of rightful sovereignty of the Kingdom of Atlas. The steel it was forged from comes from the swords the first Kings of Atlas used to unify the Kingdoms. It is the same steel that slew the _draigoch_ Grimm, the very first sword embedded with the power of Dust!"

"Oh. Cool." Jaune's nonchalant reply evidently flustered the men in suits, who had no doubt expected the sword not to be buried beneath a stack of _X-Ray and Vav_ comics and several dirty socks. Nothing, however, could change what Crocea Mors was to Jaune - an antiquated hand-me-down that would always be the least-cool weapon in the room. It wasn't even a gun.

"You are aware that the King of Atlas did not ten days ago?" said one of the men, speaking slowly as if to a very small child.

"Yeah, VNN had a piece on it," Jaune replied. Politics had never been his thing. A few of the Atlas exchange students had gone home for the funeral but otherwise it was too removed for the students of Beacon to really care. Atlas had had four kings in the past decade, since nobody in the first ten spots of the line of succession was under seventy, and not one had connected with their citizenry on any emotional level for a generation. What had once been an institute of splendor had been sullied by decades of intra-family rivalry and politicking, which spilled onto the covers of tabloids with growing frequency.

"Mister Arc, in one of his last royal proclamations King Menoetius VII revised the royal succession order. In his will, the King declared that Atlas should choose its Kings as it did in ancient times."

"The King grew rather fond of our romanticized legendarium," noted another of the men. "He came to believe that just as possession of Atlas' most sacred relic determined the kings in our Golden Age, so it should be again. I'm sure you are familiar with how Lord Arc was entrusted with Crocea Mors during his time as Steward of Atlas in the War?"

"Suuuure, let's go with that," said Jaune, belatedly wishing he'd paid more attention in Oobleck's class.

"The point I am trying to get at," said yet another man, "is that the King decided his successor should be whomever possessed Atlas' symbol of divine sovereignty, Crocea Mors. We at the Royal Household Office were aware that Crocea Mors was in the Arc family, but not that it was in the hands of someone so…. young."

Pyrrha and Ren shot one another panicked looks, then their eyes darted back to Jaune. You could practically see the gears clicking in his head as he processed the information.

"So you're saying….."

"Yes…."

"That I'm….."

"Yes…."

"King of….."

"Yes…."

"Atlas?"

"YES!"

The thunderous shouts woke up Nora, RWBY, and the better part of the student dormitory. Jaune's jaw dropped, Pyrrha's eyes widened, and even the unflappable Ren paled. Yang managed to get the door open just soon enough to see a half-dozen men drop to their knees before Jaune Arc, still in his onesie pajamas.

"Long live the King! All Hail King Jaune the First of Atlas!"

"Fuck this shit," declared Yang, chalking the vision up to midnight burritos, and slammed the door back shut.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ozpin did not get enough sleep.

Unlike Lie Ren, his problem was entirely self-inflicted. Upon becoming Headmaster of Beacon Academy he'd been gifted a rather nice coffeemaker for his office. Coupled with the bags of coffee delivered daily from the cafeteria, Ozpin had discovered he had access to functionally unlimited quantities of caffeine. Now, Ozpin considered himself a man who did not do things to excesses. He had a hard-earned reputation as a thoughtful and wise man, and had turned down numerous prestigious appointments in government to run what was essentially a high school. Over the years he had counseled hundreds, perhaps thousands of students during one of the most important periods of their lives, gently guiding them down their life paths. He had spent countless hours dealing with the foibles of his students, and never once lost his temper. He was a wise man, a humble man, but a man cursed by an inescapable addiction to coffee.

It was twenty minutes past eight in the morning and Ozpin had just concluded his second sleepless night in a row. Glynda had been around him long enough to know if he was drifting into the madness of sleep deprivation, and knew he still had a few hours to go before she had to swap in a cup of decaf and set him down gently before his body crashed or his mind disintegrated. For everyone's sake, she hoped this meeting with the representatives of the Atlas Royal Household Office didn't drag on.

The six men were seated in a cluster of chairs in front of Ozpin's desk, Jaune Arc by himself a couple of feat away. He'd managed to change into his school uniform by the time Glynda had stormed in to investigate the commotion, and had begged her with his most pitiful expression to get Ozpin to save him. Glynda had managed to expel the strange men from the student dormitories, then sent them to stew in Ozpin's antechamber while Pyrrha, Ren and Jaune did their best to explain what had just happened. Depressingly, it wasn't even the craziest shit she'd had to deal with this week.

"It is a rather intriguing move," mused Ozpin, his melodious voice snapping Jaune out of his daze. "The royal family of Atlas has become something of a laughingstock - or at the very least, it has lost much of its mythic aura."

The men from the Atlas Royal Household Office would never voice such opinions about an institution they had devoted their lives to, but their was a murmur of affirmative grunts. As with the other monarchies, Atlas was a Kingdom in name only. The King and the rings of nobility surrounding him were intended to be ceremonial only - to preside over the opening of legislative sessions, cut ribbons at schools, visit wounded soldiers in hospitals. Nominally, the King could do pretty much anything - start wars, dismiss ministers, take brides - but none dared shake the status quo. They lived in an archipelago of palaces and mansions, had all their needs tended to, delivered speeches drafted by government spokesmen, then retired to nights of charity galas. But the past few generations of Atlasian nobility had been a mess. Spending scandals, sex scandals, drinking scandals…. no PR firm in Remnant would take them on as clients, so lost was their cause.

"The Arcs are distant members of the Atlasian nobility," Ozpin continued, more to himself than anyone. "They certainly have as much a right to the throne as any other family. Choosing someone young like Mister Arc will ensure stability for the coming decades, something Atlas unquestionably needs. And a trained Hunter, too…"

"Hunter-in-training, ha?" said Jaune with a weak laugh. Ozpin ignored him.

"It is an unusual succession mechanism, but it has been used in the past," one of the ARHO men repeated. "The monarchy of Atlas is not strictly hereditary by bloodline, the King has a great deal of discretion to choose his successor. Crocea Mors will serve as a unifying symbol for Atlas, and the Hunters are greatly respected there. The legendary Kings of Atlas were all men who defended Atlas by slaying Grimm, after all. Jaune Arc would be revitalizing a tradition that has sadly fallen into disuse."

"Indeed." Ozpin stared into space for several seconds, long enough for Jaune to shift uncomfortably in his seat and Glynda to worry that she'd mistimed the onset of Sleep Deprivation Madness. "Very well," he said, snapping back like nothing had happened. "As Headmaster of Beacon Academy, I hereby give Mister Jaune Arc permission to take indefinite leave of his studies in order to fulfill his duties as King of Atlas."

"Excellent," said one of the men, concluding the agreement with a handshake.

"Wait, what?!"

"Mister Arc," said Ozpin, "your duty now is to the people of Atlas. The King has long been a unifying figure, a lodestar in times of trouble. And these are very uncertain times."

"Wait, wait, wait…. what makes you think I can possibly be King?" asked Jaune, as Ozpin rose to his feat. Jaune needed an out, and he needed it now.

"The same reasons I chose you to be the leader of JNPR," replied Ozpin, deftly. "Whatever your faults, Jaune, you are honest, hard-working, and attentive to the needs of those around you. You will put others before yourself, and always do what you feel is right. The people of Atlas could hardly ask for more in a leader."

"But what about JNPR? I can't just abandon them."

"We will take care of the rest of your team, Mister Arc," said Glynda, though her tone was softer than he'd ever heard it. Beacon lost students all the time, for one reason or another, and it was always disruptive to the team structure. She hated to tear apart JNPR just as it was starting to come together.

"My Lord, we have an airship waiting to take you directly to Atlas," said one of the ARHO men.

"Just…. just give me a minute to get some stuff from my dorm room," said Jaune. _And say goodbye._

Ozpin strolled past him, planting a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Jaune, this isn't the end. I look forward to attending your coronation ceremony. I've never met a King, truthfully."

"Actually," one of the ARHO men piped up, "By Atlasian law, Mister Arc became King of Atlas the moment King Menoetius VII died, even without a coronation ceremony."

"Ah. My apologies, Your Majesty," said Ozpin, offering a sweeping bow while still managing to balance his coffee cup.

He winked at Glynda, who shot him an angry glare in return but offered Jaune a crisp curtsey. "Your Majesty."

_'This is going to get really, really weird,'_ thought Jaune, as the weight of the world bore down on his shoulders.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room smelled like pancakes.

It could, and had, smelled much worse. The sweat from a long day of training. Grimm blood after a day of Hunting. That one time Jaune had tried to watch a 3D movie on his scroll and gotten incredibly motion sick. It didn't normally smell like pancakes.

"We saved you some," said Nora, gesturing to a stack of pancakes on a plate in the middle of Jaune's bed. They were practically floating in syrup, and Jaune smiled softly at the self-control it must've taken Nora not to eat them all. The happy-go-lucky girl's voice was unusually subdued, though, like she was trying to cheer up a kid whose puppy had just been run over.

The rest of JNPR was already fully dressed but just standing around, awkwardly. While Jaune had been in Ozpin's office the news had broke over VNN, and the scrolls of every student in Beacon were afire with message wondering just who the hell Jaune Arc was and how he'd become King of Atlas.

"So," said Pyrrha, breaking the uncomfortably long silence, "it's true, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah," Jaune muttered back. _'Why in Remnant does inheriting a Kingdom make me feel so bad?'_

Pyrrha nodded, then dropped to her knee in one fluid motion, bowing her head and planting her right hand over her heart.

"Your Majesty," said Pyrrha, her voice dignified solemnity. _'You're going to leave us, Jaune. You're going to leave Beacon for the courts of Atlas and I'll never see you again except in the news.'_ She bit into her lower lip, and tucked her chin in a little deeper, lest anyone see the tears welling in her eyes. _'Just as everything was coming together they have to tear you away from us.'_ The venomous thought coursed through her mind, unbidden but undeniable, and for a moment a wave of misanthropy washed over Pyrrha. But then her training kicked in, her emotions were checked, and she said what she was expected to say. "The citizens of Atlas are very lucky to have you as a King. I am honored to have been of service to you."

Nora got a kick out of Pyrrha's melodramatic pomp-and-ceremony, and dropped to her knee, tugging Ren down with her. "Your Majesty," she pledged, mimicking Pyrrha's gesture.

"Cone on, guys, don't make this weird," Jaune pleaded. Nora grinned mischievously, which made Jaune laugh, which made Pyrrha smile. "Come on, Pyrrha you're from Mistral!"

Of course Weiss, seeking Pyrrha, took that moment to open the door, and became the second member of RWBY that day to question whether she was having a gastronomically-induced dream.

"What on Remnant are you possibly doing?" Weiss demanded, seeing some of Beacon's best warriors kneeling before the boy who still read _X-Ray and Vav_.

"Haven't you heard, Jaune is King of Atlas!" said Nora, bouncing to her feet. Pyrrha followed, brushing the pooled water out of her eyes while pretending to straighten her headpiece. "The Old King died and said whoever had Crocea Mors would be the next King! Turns out it's a super-important sword that killed like a thousand Beowulf and…"

"Of course I've heard," snapped Weiss, tuning out Nora's babbling. "And you know you don't have to kneel before a King, right?"

"We're more traditionalist in Mistral," explained Pyrrha, straightening up and clasping her hands behind her back. "And Jaune is now one of the Four Lords of Remnant, after all."

Jaune's eyes widened at that, and he quickly glanced over at Weiss. For the first time since this ordeal started he saw a possible upside. "That's right, Weiss, you're talking to Jaune Arc, King of Atlas, Lord of Remnant, Wielder of the Crocea Mors." Confidence seeped into his tone as he leaned an arm against the dorm wall. "In a couple of hours I'll be moving into a palace with more servants than you can shake a stick at. Access to the Royal Treasury, thousands of jewels, an army of bodyguards…. Maybe Team Jaune doesn't look so bad after all." He flexed a bicep, which admittedly had grown somewhat over the past few months, thanks to Pyrrha, and shot Weiss his most seductive look.

"Now that I think about it, communism does have some underappreciated perks," retorted Weiss dryly, thankful that the arrival of Ruby, Yang and Blake was putting bodies between her and Jaune.

"You know Jaune, Weiss is Atlasian, aren't you?" said Yang with a smirk, closing the dorm room's door behind them as a few nosy students poked their heads out of their rooms. Ruby, seeing an unattended plate of pancakes, began eating Jaune's farewell breakfast. "Can't you just order her to be your wife?"

"Yang, stop enabling him!" hissed Weiss.

"Alright, fine, just a mistress. You can finally build that harem you always wanted." Yang gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder, albeit hard enough to bruise.

"I never wanted a harem," said Jaune, pitifully enough that Pyrrha instinctively put a hand on his shoulder. Blake just rolled her eyes.

"So you're really leaving," said Pyrrha, once Yang had clued into the fact that they weren't in a particularly jovial mood.

"Yeah. On the way back Glynda was saying they'll try to find a way to continue my Hunter training in Atlas. They can probably arrange for private tutoring." He looked up at Pyrrha. "None of them will ever be as good as you though."

Pyrrha's fingers dug deep into Jaune's shoulder. Tears began streaming slowly down her cheeks, though she did nothing to stop them this time. His words pierced her like a sword breaking Aura. Her knees went weak and her stomach clenched. The life of the Jaune Arc she knew was over. Jaune wouldn't crib her notes from Professor Oobleck's class anymore. JNPR was never going to be a team of Grimm-fighting Hunters. They'd never sneak out onto the roof to practice sparring. They'd never grapple beneath the stars, Pyrrha savoring the feel of Jaune as she wrestled him to the ground. She'd never gotten to say-

_Fuck it._

She pressed her body against his. A pancake hung uneaten in Ruby's mouth. Her lips hovered above his for what might as well have been an eternity. There were a million things she could do, a million things she could say. They could run away. He could claim it was all a misunderstanding. That he wasn't really the King, that he wanted to abdicate. But he wouldn't, and she knew it.

She felt his breath on her lips, and stared at his mouth, slightly parted. Did he know what she wanted to do? She paused, then planted a short, chaste kiss on his cheek. His scraggly hair brushed against her cheek. She pushed away.

"Stay safe, Jaune," she whispered, wondering how many people would ever address him like that again. She made for the door.

"Wait, um, Pyrrha…. goodbye?" said Jaune, his uncertain voice barely able to get the words out."

Pyrrha paused, her hand on the doorknob, but kept her gaze downcast, her back turned. "My mother had a saying," she began, her voice barely loud enough to be heard in the silent dorm. "Did I ever tell you about my mother?"

"No, I don't think you ever did," said Jaune, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She wasn't around a lot when I was a kid. And when she was she could only stay a short time. Seems like she always had… somewhere else to be…. something important to do. And when she left, she wouldn't say goodbye to me. Instead, she always told me, _'Never say goodbye.'_ "

The room was utterly silent as Pyrrha swung the door open, standing astride the threshold. When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft but wavering, on the edge of breaking, her throat tight as tears streamed silently by. She raised her chin, staring blankly at the hallway's wall. "If you don't say goodbye then you aren't really gone… you just… aren't here right now."

The door slammed shut behind Pyrrha, and a silence echoed through the room.


	2. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the week leading up to the coronation ceremony, Jaune finds the world of royalty a strange and alien one. When he discovers someone from his old life in his bedroom he realizes just how hard this is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this is not really a harem fic. Maybe it's a deconstruction of Jaune harem fics, if that's not too fancy a phrase. Tone is a little subdued this chapter but it's going to get more upbeat shortly. As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Insights into characterization, emotions, dialogue are highly valued. Rating also upped to M because there is still going to be smut in this fic, just not the usual kind.
> 
> Velvet has a small shout-out to another Jaune/Velvet fic.

Jaune Arc's next week was a confusing blur, a whirlwind of meetings and briefings that made Oobleck's class look like a leisurely Sunday brunch in comparison. While the death of the old King was a tragedy, of course, it was clear that the Atlas Royal Household Office was exhilarated by the prospect of a new King, its employees and staffers working themselves into a frenzy of preparation. Funerals and coronations to organize. Catering to arrange, suits to be tailored, proclamations to be issued, invitations to be mailed. Jaune was hustled from one meeting, luncheon, appointment or dinner to the next with scarcely a clue as to the underlying purpose of each, buffeted about by handlers like he was some museum artifact on tour. And he hadn't even been crowned yet.

_'At least they haven't made me do anything in public yet',_ Jaune had thought, in one of the few moments of his day where he didn't have to pretend he was following someone's conversation. Upon his arrival in Atlas a handful of photographers had been allowed to snap a few photos of their new King, while the Palace's majordomos had put out a statement informing the citizenry that the King would be too busy preparing to assume his official duties to make any public appearances for the time being. _'And thank Dust for small mercies'._

Whatever meeting he'd just been in - a discussion of changes to official stamps, or something? - had ended, and his handlers began steering him through the palace's labyrinthine corridors to whomever he owed his next fifteen minutes. Almost a week in _Nouveau Sanssouci_ and it was still as perplexing to Jaune as the day he'd arrived, a seemingly never-ending maze of equally-beautiful corridors, all decorated with paintings of identical mastery. Lest, of course, any time be wasted during the commute, several of his advisors half-jogged beside him, pelting him with bullets of decontextualized information.

_///The funerary ceremony traditionally begins at sundown, which tomorrow will begin at\\\\\The Mistrali Ambassador will be inviting you to his residence in a fortnight's time but as a matter of protocol///The Commonwealth of Menagerie customarily sends a representative, who should be arriving tonight, who will personally assist you with any\\\\\We'll have to review which image of Your Majesty you would like used on the new coinage which we will begin minting in//_

It was a cacophonous blur to Jaune, only the occasional factoid sticking in his mind. And despite meeting more people in a day than he had in the past year, he was alone. He'd been alone when he'd arrived at Beacon, too, but there he'd been surrounded by people just as confused as he was. Not only was he the lone fish-out-of-water in the Palace, he was easily one of the youngest people in the building. His handlers, advisors, and everyone he met with were senior officials or representatives, none with less than half a century behind them. He'd spotted a few people scurrying about who could have been in their twenties - maids, secretaries, the like - but they vanished almost as soon as he entered the room, or else moved with rigid formality. Yeah, he'd wished Weiss had been a little nicer to him when they'd first met, but the perfectly proper responses everyone here gave him were alienating.

He feigned the need to go to the bathroom, and his advisors reluctantly directed him to a room of shining porcelain and marble, which he seemed to sully just by stepping into. He spun the faucet and let cool water run over his hands. The man staring back at him through the hanging crystal mirror was unfamiliar to Jaune Arc. He wore a conservative black double-breasted suit, tailored perfectly, which probably cost more than a Hunter made in a year. A stylist had shaped his hair into a neater form than he'd ever managed. Perhaps strangest was the near-complete absence of any cuts or bruises. A week without sparring meant his skin was already losing its calluses, and he had none of the residual soreness that came from using one's Aura as a barrier. In that regard, the normalcy was strange, even discomforting.

_'Weiss, this is the world you were meant to live in, not me,'_ Jaune mused, imagining the natural elegance the Ice Queen would have handled this with. She was always perfectly put together, never flustered, always carried herself with flawless poise and grace. She wouldn't be intimidated by minor nobility or bewildered by its complexities. And who wouldn't want her as their Queen? _The people of Atlas would be a lot less disappointed,_ he thought bitterly.

He instinctively reached for his scroll, but it wasn't there, hadn't been there since the night he'd arrived. The old scroll models had so many security flaws in them, he'd been informed, they'd get him a better one post-haste. But he wouldn't really need one, of course, not with servants waiting on him hand-and-foot to deliver any message or remind him of any meeting. Of course.

Jaune flushed the toilet he'd been pretending to use and surrendered himself to his advisors. Another briefing, this one on his duties as the ceremonial Command-in-Chief. One later on media relations. Another on protocol at his Coronation Ceremony. When he was informed that there would be a total of fourteen coronation balls he almost fainted, before being told he would only have to stop in at each for a few minutes. A joyous day indeed.

For some reason, he found his thoughts drifting to Pyrrha, who always tried to sit next to him, who let him borrow her notes, who translated particularly-dense texts into a language he could understand. He wished she was one of his advisors right now, someone who could follow him around and explain what someone else had just tried to explain. Hell, someone who could just do his job for him. She was strong and polite and photogenic (as her numerous sponsorships attested to), she'd probably do a better job than he would. At the very least, she wouldn't be spending a meeting on heraldic interpretation thinking about whether he could incorporate X-Ray's emblem into his official coat of arms.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, the day ended. Or rather, his advisors hurried him back to his chambers so he could sleep for a little more than six hours before the cycle began anew tomorrow. It was as if they viewed his bodily limits as inconveniences that needed to be scheduled around. Which they probably did.

While he'd only been at Beacon Academy for a few months the dozens of sparring matches, training exercises and Grimm encounters should have raised his situational awareness to the point where he noticed another figure in the bedroom. _Should have_ , of course, being the operative phrase there. Instead of spotting the person seated not ten feet away from him (to be fair, it was rather dark with the lights off and the curtains drawn), Jaune stared at an oil painting that hung opposite his four-poster bed, squinting in the darkness. Someone dressed in red, probably one of the semi-mythical Huntresses of old, stood astride a snowy field, the bodies of countless Grimm strewed around her. The intricate brushwork was engrossing on its own - the blood of the slain Grimm seemed to blur into the Huntress' cloak, leaving no clear lines separating them. In the painting's background, where the snowy fields blurred into the grayish sky, the horizon itself was a mess of angry black strokes. Was there something on that horizon? The Huntress in the painting had her back to it, if there was anything there at all. He wanted the painted woman to look over her shoulder. Was it-

A nervous cough caused Jaune to practically leap out of his skin, whirling about in a panic and desperately trying to remember what his Chief of Security had said about assassins. There was supposed to be a bell on his nightstand that he could use to summon-

"Velvet?" The name was blurted from his mouth as recognition dawned on him. He fumbled for the light switch, casting the room in a soft glow as the first reminder of his old life crashed into his new one. "What…. what are you doing here?"

If he'd expected an answer that would have actually clarified anything he would have be sorely disappointed, as the young Faunus was practically tripping over her words in a hurry to get them out.

"King Jaune my name is Velvet Scarlatina and I am the first daughter of Minister Scarlatin Lord-Protector of the Commonwealth of Menagerie and I an honored to have been chosen to represent the Faunus of Menagerie and to bring our great nations closer together by personally-"

"Velvet, Velvet, Velvet," said Jaune, holding out his hands as if to stop her stream of words, "slow down a second, please." He paused, slowly taking in the woman before him, practically trembling, her leporine ears folding down towards her head. "Why are you wearing-"

Before he could ask why Velvet was wearing, well, not a whole lot, she was kowtowing on the floor beneath him, her forehead brushing the carpeted floor. "If you would have me," she sputtered out, "I am to be a courtesan and attend to any of your needs that may not be satisfied within the confines of your marriage should you-"

Velvet's words blurred together as she stumbled over what was obviously a prepared speech. Was she crying? Jaune crouched down to her prostrate form, unsure of if to touch her. She was wearing only a lacy black bra and panties, along with a pair of stockings and heels, which on Velvet were both incredibly seductive and undeniably alien. Even when not in uniform Velvet typically dressed quite conservatively for a teenage girl, whether it was out of a sense of modesty or a lack of self-confidence Jaune had never bothered to figure out.

He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, finding her skin already clammy with sweat. Up close he could tell she was crying a little, just very quietly. "Velvet, you don't have to… I'm not…"

Before he could figure out what to say (which, admittedly, may have taken more time than either of them had), Velvet stood up with a loud sniff, tugging Jaune upright with her. She seemed to steel herself with a deep breath, then grabbed Jaune firmly by the hand and seated him on the bed.

"Please don't move, Your Majesty," she said, in a voice so playful he found it impossible to reconcile with the tearful girl he'd seen just seconds go. He was stunned. She undid the belt around his pants with dexterous ease, winking at him as she did. But her eyes were still red, her cheeks still glistening...

"Velvet, you don't have to do…"

His pants and underwear were slid down in one swift motion, pooling around his ankles. Velvet's hands against his thighs were electrifying. It didn't take a genius to figure out that a boy like Jaune hadn't spent a lot of 'intimate' time with girls, and Velvet's touch felt so good that the weight of the world seemed to be lifted off his shoulders. Her hands quickly moved inwards, stroking the base of his member while she flashed him a toothy grin.

"Don't worry, I think you're enjoying this, Your Majesty."

The swelling between his legs almost overrode his higher reasoning completely, but Velvet's smile distracted him. It was a coy and playful smile, showing just the right amount of teeth, the right amount of tongue. He hadn't spent too much time with Velvet, but he knew that wasn't how she smiled. Even when she laughed her mouth formed at most a wry grin, as if a lifetime of bullying and oppression had left her permanently weary of displaying too much joy. Velvet was hardly a cynic, but she wasn't the sex kitten she was trying oh-so-hard to look like at the moment.

For a fleeting moment, as Velvet's lips slid over the head of his member and her hands ran down its length, he thought maybe he didn't care. A week's worth of tension was ready to burst out from within and if a girl was offering to take care of him maybe he didn't need to say no. He'd already given up whatever friends he'd made and the life he dreamt of to play dress-up with a stupid sword. Maybe he deserved a cute girl bobbing on his dick. That was just one of the perks that came with being King, right?

...

_"Can't you just order her to be your wife?"_ Yang's words flashed through his head, unbidden. He'd glanced at Weiss, and remembered just how wrong that suggestion had sounded.... 

_Damn it all_

The force of will it took to take Velvet's face in his hand and gently guide her off his penis was greater than he'd given to any exercise regimen. His dick, coated in pre-cum and saliva, stood erect a few inches from her face, which wore an expression that was equal parts confusion and dismay. Her hand cautiously stroked his shaft, almost causing him to lose whatever self-control remained, before he forced himself to stand up and hastily shove his pants back on.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," said Velvet, scrambling to her feet. "Your Majesty I-I-I was too bold I didn’t mean to _**please don't kick me out**_ -" She almost screamed the last words, which dissolved whatever facade she was putting up. The waterworks began in earnest now, her face buried in her hands. "Oh Dust I failed I failed I failed…"

The sight of Velvet, dressed in lingerie whose cost was inversely proportionate to its surface area, crying her eyes out was just so wrong. Without really thinking Jaune removed his suit jacket and swung it over Velvet's shoulders. She clutched at it, perhaps on instinct. Jaune let her sit there for several minutes, taking off his tie and dress shirt as he waited, leaving him in only a gray undershirt. He tossed them to the floor, not caring that it meant someone else would have to pick them up. Belatedly, he remembered the silk bathrobe hanging in the bathroom and hastily retrieved it.

"Here. This is probably more comfortable," said Jaune, offering the garment to Velvet. The men's bathrobe went down almost to her ankles, and when tied at the waist the lapels covered her breasts entirely. Velvet smiled at him as he lifted the suit jack off her - a genuine smile, not something copied from an erotic vid - and her breathing slowly returned to normal. "So what's this all about?"

She sniffled again. "This is just…. part of the fallout of the second human-faunus war," Velvet said, softly, like recalling a tragedy which time had mostly numbed her to. "The Kingdom of Atlas provided some support to Menagerie during its darkest hour, and continues to donate more development aid than any of the other Kingdoms. The Kings of Atlas have also long provided diplomatic support for Menagerie and other Faunus initiatives." More sniffles. Jaune found he'd wrapped an arm around her shoulders without really thinking, and quickly withdrew. He was sure the last thing she wanted was for someone to impose themselves on her… "In older times," Velvet continued, "the Lord-Protector would send one of his children to Atlas as a symbolic hostage, a sign that he had no intention of inciting rebellion. Then everyone realized a Faunus concubine did the job just as well." There was undeniable bitterness in her voice. "My presence in Atlas ensures stability in Menagerie, simple as that. And you know how much harder it is for humans to get a faunus pregnant. That's why we make such good wh-… courtesans. If I do everything you want, it will engender goodwill for all faunus." Sniffle. "A task I have utterly failed at."

"Dust, Velvet, is this is the kind of world I live in now," asked Jaune, standing up and tossing the curtains of the window open. The shattered moon hung overhead, casting the sprawling gardens that ringed the castle in a deathly pale light. His erection, still hard beneath his pants, was doing nothing for his mood. "I get people throwing themselves at me in the hopes that I won't, what, cut off aid to Menagerie?"

Velvet shuffled uncomfortably on the bed.

"I'm… I'm sorry I tried to manipulate you, Your Majesty."

"No, it's not… Dust, I don't know what it is," cursed Jaune. "It's not your fault. Someone, somewhere thought it was a good idea to give Jaune Arc unlimited access to one of his classmates."

"Most of the Cabinet did, actually," confirmed Velvet, eliciting another groan from Jaune. "I don't think they counted on you being able to say 'no'."

"Yeah, well, I'm not that kind of guy," said Jaune, vaguely. _'Not what kind of guy? Not the kind of guy who is usually King, by the sound of it. Someone who doesn't let hurt feelings stop him from getting what he wants.'_ He sighed. "So what happens now?"

"In a few minutes, Your Majesty, I imagine, you'll ask me to leave, and I'll report back that you weren't interested. In a couple of weeks they'll send someone else, maybe recruit a human, or just a faunus with less prominent features." Velvet's ears curled a little.

"And you'll go back to Beacon?" asked Jaune. Velvet shook her head violently, an ugly expression crossing over her face. When she didn't elaborate, he tactfully chose not to press.

"Well, you might as well stay here then," said Jaune, with a sigh.

"Your Majesty?"

"If the Commonwealth thinks you're sleeping with me and trying to trick me into being more pro-Faunus, they'll let you stay, right?" Velvet nodded, a little uncertainly. "Maybe the whole seduce-and-manipulate thing was needed when every King of Atlas hated Faunus, but believe me Velvet, I'm not like them. Really. I'm not a Winchester, or one of the bad Schnees. But I want you here. I…. I trust you, and if you want to give me advice on Faunus issues you don't need to suck my dick first."

"T-thank you, Your Majesty," said Velvet, softly, after an awkward moment had passed.

"It's not… don't thank me Velvet… It's more…. what I mean to say…Velvet, I'm sorry. I know it's not my fault, but I'm sorry you're part of a world where sending you out to be some teenager's sex slave seems like a good idea. I don't want you to think I'm disgusted by Faunus or you're ugly or something, it's just…. you don't really want to do this, do you?" After several loud heartbeats, Velvet shook her head, negatively. "So, yeah. That's that. But if you want to stay here to do the other part of your job, to be a faunus ambassador, then, yeah, please. I trust you more than anyone else I've met here." Jaune paused. "On one condition."

"Your Majesty?"

"No more of that! Dust, Velvet, it's me, Jaune. The goofball leader of JNPR." The name of his team, unspoken since his arrival, felt bitter on his tongue. He wondered briefly if they'd changed it. "And you outrank me, anyways. Better huntress by miles. So between you and me, there's no need to pretend I'm some mighty noble."

"Okay… Jaune," said Velvet with a smile, mirroring the one on Jaune's face.

They stared happily at one another for a few moments, content to have found if not normalcy then at least sanity in their lives. Then Velvet glanced downwards, eyeing the bulge still visibly constrained by the fabric of his pants.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take care of that?" she offered again, though this time without the fear in her eyes. "It's kind of my fault you're like that to begin with."

"Go to sleep, Velvet," said Jaune.

He then locked the door to the bathroom and enjoyed a long, much-needed hot shower.

He figured he might as well luxuriate, before the teenager in his brain realized what he'd just turned down and gave him a hemorrhage for his troubles.


	3. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Beacon, Yang and Pyrrha figure out how to move forward.

Before the whole Jaune-Arc-is-actually-a-King story broke, very few students at Beacon Academy had had the misfortune of seeing Pyrrha Nikos in a bad mood. They'd seen her subdued, bemused, mildly annoyed, inconvenienced and disappointed, but angry…

The first real clue that things were amiss came during a regular sparring exercise between herself and Sun Wukong. During the first exchange of blows Pyrrha was undeniably lackadaisical, parrying Sun's attacks with half-hearted deflections, or simply letting her formidable Aura absorb the strikes for her. Sun, as usual, peppered her with verbal teases, running a non-stop monologue that usually distracted his opponents. Frustrated by his complete inability to get a rise out of Pyrrha, Sun, in his infinite wisdom, decided to suggest that perhaps Pyrrha wished she had made a move on Jaune Arc _before_ he'd been announced King of Atlas.

The ensuring beatdown would go down in Beacon's annals as one of the greatest curb-stomps in the school's history. One of Sun's nunchaku slapped him in the face, hard, while the other slipped from his grasp entirely as Pyrrha's polarity flared to life with a vengeance. Pyrrha closed the twenty feet between them so quickly even Ruby couldn't follow her, batting aside Sun's spectral clones like flies moments before Miló made contact with Sun's groin. The faunus' Aura was nowhere near powerful enough to entirely absorb the blow, and he was left completely vulnerable for what was, by Blake's count, a twenty-eight hit combo attack that took the monkey boy to the ceiling and back. Team SSSN was lifting him out of a small crater in the floor by the time a stunned Glynda Goodwitch remembered to end the match.

So when Pyrrha stepped into the exercise room one cool Saturday morning, the few students already there had the good sense not to draw her attention. Clad only in a tank top and gym shorts the Huntress' toned physique was on full display. Nobody said anything about how she'd spent hours in the gym every day since Jaune left, pushing her body until she was too tired to think about anything, too exhausted to care. For a woman of Pyrrha's strength, that took a _lot._

Pyrrha began, as she usually did, on the treadmill, barely bothering to warm up before accelerating to what was essentially a sprint. She preferred running outdoors whenever possible, but early snowfall had left the grounds a slushy mess. As she ran, Pyrrha tried pointedly to ignore the blonde jogging in place beside her, not-too-quietly singing along to some metal-rock abomination blasting through her ear buds loud enough to be audible over the hum of the machines.

__  
Your world needs a great defender.  
Your world's in the way of harm.  
You want a romantic life, a fairytale that's full of charm.  


After several minutes Yang finally glanced sideways, casting a devilish grin at Pyrrha. "Sorry I didn't see you there!" she said, louder than necessary. "But you know what it's like when you find the right song and you're just _in the zone._ Feel like I could run to the Moon and back."

"I don't normally listen to music when I exercise," replied Pyrrha, keeping her voice level despite the sprint she was running at. "My instructors in Mistral always taught us to concentrate on our breathing." She hadn't (consciously) meant to, but a note of condescension had slipped into her voice.

" _Lame,_ " teased Yang, though she caught the look of annoyance Pyrrha shot her way. "Come on, let's do some reps. I'll spot you."

"I'm running now," replied Pyrrha, coolly.

"Yeah, but you're pissed, and lifting weights is way better stress relief," said Yang, powering off Pyrrha's machine before the Huntress could protest. "So come on. Girl time!" Yang ignored Pyrrha's withering scowl and grabbed a barbell, sliding weights onto it. "So what do you want to-"

"Put 100 on," replied Pyrrha, lying on her back and stretching out her arms. While Yang helped her set up, Pyrrha's eyes were drawn to one of the TVs overhead, tuned to some brainless entertainment channel. As if anyone needed to know who was sleeping with who. Properly positioned, Pyrrha focused on the burning in her arms as she began raising and lowering the barbell, Yang's hands floating ready above her. Of course with her Semblance Pyrrha could have lifted the weight easily, but she had no intention of over-relying on her Aura at the expense of physical training, unlike _some_ students she knew.

"So…. anything you want to talk about?" asked Yang, in what she probably thought was a very subtle probe. Yang was never good at subtle, though, which was endearing in its own way.

"If you want to ask how the Team's doing, just say so," grunted Pyrrha.

"I want to know how _you_ are doing," corrected Yang. "Ren and Nora have each other. You…. I'm worried about."

"Don't be," shot back Pyrrha, the burn in her arms finally reaching cathartic levels. _'And now on Exposure, we take a closer look at Atlas' most eligible bachelor, King Jaune the First. With the coronation ceremony only a few days away many are already asking whether Atlas will have a Queen anytime soon. We've asked about and here who's in the running to be-'_

"You're Team Leader now, Pyrrha, and I know you're doing a kick-ass job of it…"

_'…Kohle, First Lady of Terrarum, and widely considered one of the_ femme fatales _of aristocratic society…'_

"I've got a lot fewer distractions in my life, Yang," grunted Pyrrha, steadying her breath. "That's only going to make me a better Huntress."

"More to life than hunting, Pyrrha," said Yang, with the sagacity of one much older. "I mean a couple of months ago Blake was so focused on Roman Torchwick we couldn't get her to take a cat-nap. Ha. But now…."

_'…Lara Osimiri, who you should remember from last year's erotic thriller_ Speedtrap _…'_

Pyrrha pumped harder, tightening her fingers around the bar as she strove to put all she had into her lifts.

"…And I mean Weiss, the Ice Queen herself, is even defrosting a bit. Not, you know, what you and I would considered relaxed, but…."

She bit her lip in focus, trying to drown out the world around her.

_'…and a dark horse candidate we can't overlook is one Weiss Schnee, Atlas native and heiress of the Schnee Dust Company…'_

"Pyrrha?"

_'….we've been deluded with rumors that she and King Jaune had eyes for each other while they were both students at Beacon Academy. And who can blame him, what with her…'_

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up down up down up down updown updown updown updown updown

_'…and we certainly can't overlook the symbolic beauty of intertwining the Royal Family with the Schnee Dust Company. Brains, beauty, wealth, and a Huntress to boot, what more could….'_

**"Pyrrha!"**

Yang finally shouted loud enough to drown out the echo in her own head. Pyrrha looked around, mildly confused, only to realize that she'd elevated just about every piece of gym equipment - and a half-dozen students - more than a meter off the floor. Her Aura visibly crackled around her, spooking even the perpetually nonchalant Yang.

"Oh, um, sorry!" called out Pyrrha, sheepishly, as she lowered the machinery to the ground as gently as possible. She sat up, wiping sweat from her brow as Yang stood in front of her, arms crossed. Back in the dormitory, Blake glanced at Yang's laser pointer for no particular reason.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

The stroll back to their dormitories was a long and quiet one, punctuated by the occasional question and the even more occasional answer. For all her eloquence Pyrrha wasn't very good at expressing her feelings, particularly ones she'd barely admitted to herself. Like untangling a knotted cord Yang slowly pulled out the truth - Pyrrha's feelings for Jaune, her sense of inadequacy vis-à-vis Weiss, her bitterness that they were just beginning to make progress when the Fates had thrown them for a loop. She hated herself for feeling selfish, for wanting Jaune all to herself, but at the same time was getting tired of suppressing her feelings like she'd been expected to all her life. Her sponsors wanted someone who was prim and proper at all times, who never had late-night dalliances with boys or sipped beers at a backyard party. And, for as long as she could remember, Pyrrha had complied, even if it meant cutting herself off from the world of lesser mortals. Even if it meant being put on a pedestal, and never being asked to prom. So she still gave the inspirational speeches in school gymnasiums. Worked out in featureless white rooms for commercial spots. Smiled for the box of Pumpkin Pete's Marshmellow Flakes. She was the perfect student. And she'd soon be the perfect Huntress, with none of that pesky 'personal-life' stuff that might sully the image of an Amazonian warrior.

By the end of their talk anyone else, having had their heart and soul autopsied, would have been within their rights to collapse in a mess of tears, to let the catharsis of crying numb their suffering. Not Pyrrha, of course. This was a more honest Pyrrha than Yang had ever seen, open and emotional, but bitterness seemed to have taken the place of tears. Or perhaps it was an attempt at stoicism. Yang couldn't tell. She wasn't a shrink or a love guru, just a friend. _Is that enough?_

They were about to part ways at their respective dorm rooms when a high-pitched _squeeeeeeeee_ from the JNPR dorm - they still hadn't figured out if or how to rename the team - drew a bemused expression from Yang and an unspoken invitation in from Pyrrha. Once past the threshold, the two Huntresses took in the sight of Nora, in her underwear still, bouncing furiously from one bed to another, as Ren halfheartedly attempted to talk her down.

"We're going to go to a castle Ren! A real-life castle! I mean Beacon's nice and all, but this is like a super-old with knights in armor and hidden passageways and châtelaines and-"

"Nora, the springs aren't meant to take that kind of force," pleaded Ren, having had this conversation many times before. _'What was that old quote about the definition of insanity?'_ He glanced over his shoulder. "Yang, could you-"

Yang sprung at Nora, midway between two beds, and tackled her clean out of the air, the two landing on Pyrrha's bed in a tangle of limbs. Nora snorted and laughed, tossing Yang off her with a well-placed push of her feet, before sitting upright and holding a now-wrinkled piece of parchment.

"Just came this morning! Not even in the mail but by a courier! Not like the scroll font but an actual guy all dressed up in a fancy uniform. For everyone! At least, us and Team RWBY. Here's yours!"

Nora reached under Pyrrha's pillow and tossed her an embossed envelope, which the Huntress opened with the utmost care. Yang glanced over her shoulder as she unfolded what was easily the nicest piece of paper she had ever handled, including her Academy diploma, covered with an intricate calligraphy that made Ren's handwriting look sloppy.

_To Her Excellency, the Lady Pyrrha Nikos, of Mistral…_

Pyrrha's hands shook just a little.

_You are hereby cordially invited to the coronation ceremony of Jaune Arc, King Jaune the First of Atlas, which shall occur the first day of winter._

_The ceremony will occur at Nouveau Sanssouci, and all guests should arrive at the southwest gates by nine in the morning. A security check will be in effect, as no weapons, ceremonial or functional, will be allowed inside. The dress code, which will be strictly enforced, is white tie and full dress. This letter is your invitation, which you must have to gain admittance to the grounds. Your assigned seat for the ceremony is **D-16.** You are furthermore invited to His Majesty's Private Ball, which will begin at six in the evening on the palace grounds._

_Please RSVP at your earliest convenience by contacting the number listed below._

"So Jaune invited us…. to his coronation ceremony?" asked Pyrrha, once she finally began to make sense of it all.

"Yup!" said Nora, bouncing on the bed in excitement. "I'm going to need a new dress. And Ren's going to need a new suit. Oooh, suit shopping. I know Blake promised to take me but…"

It was around that point that Yang had an idea. Not necessarily a good idea, or a practical idea, or an idea that wouldn't end in heartbreak for all involved, but it was the first idea she'd had since Pyrrha had finally spilled the beans to her, and damned if she wasn't going to try making things right the only way she knew how.

"Pyrrha," said Yang, taking the Huntress' hands in her own and looking deep into her eyes, a manic grin on her face. "Jaune might be the most eligible bachelor in the world right now, but he's just given you front-row seats and a pass to his shindig. He's giving you an in. Time to become _**Mistral's most eligible bachelorette!"**_

At that exact moment, Pyrrha's cheeks reddened, Nora let out an ear-piecing _squee_ , Weiss Schnee slipped on a piece of toast, and the hairs on Jaune Arc's neck stood on end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter chapter, but we're starting to get the actual plot of this once-a-oneshot moving. It's hard to write characters slightly different then how we've seen them so far without straying into OOC territory, but here I go. As always, I need feedback, particularly regarding plot, pacing, character interaction, dialogue, and whether or not there's any dramatic tension. So, everything, really.
> 
> Yang's choice of music was originally going to be "I Burn", but I thought (a) that's cliché and (b) why not put perhaps a bit of foreshadowing in there? This chapter contains another shoutout to another RWBY fanfic, though I feel bad about it.


	4. Uptown's Funk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Plan is set in motion, not that anyone really thinks it will work. But Weiss and Blake have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still with the RWBY+JNPR, but the (probable) next chapter will bring everyone back together. Just not like how any of the characters are expecting. Tossing in a splash of Monochrome, stay tuned for further developments on that front. Both Blake and Weiss have a lot more going on than first appearances suggest, and their characterization is intentionally ambiguous at this point.
> 
> Feedback, as always, is welcome. If you see a bit of characterization I'm making minor progress as an author, and possibly as a human being. I'm trying to make some authentic-feeling conflicts between (and within) characters, please let me know of my success or failure in that regard. Probably won't see any updates on this for the better part of a fortnight though.
> 
> There's a Monochrome fic shoutout in here, too.

Even in Vale, which prided itself on the indifference it showed its own constitutional monarchy, Royal Fever was pandemic. Most of it was the media's fault, which loved a good rags-to-riches story as much as anybody, with the added benefit that for once the King of Atlas was a reasonably-good-looking kid. The tabloids and gossip rags had already figured out that if they turned Jaune Arc into some kind of teen idol their sales with adolescent girls would go through the roof, so there his photo was, splashed out across every grocer check-out line and convenience store counter. Barrels of ink were spilled trying to suss out his habits and hobbies, whether he liked long walks on the beach and classic rock. It was rampant, completely uneducated speculation, as RWBY and JNPR both knew, extrapolated from whatever vague comments their reporters could snatch from his friends and family, but it was powerful nonetheless.

"Did you know when Jaune Arc was a kid he saved one of his sisters from drowning by leaping into a raging current?" one particularly annoying exchange student had asked Weiss, prompting an annoyed snort. "I never knew he was such a selfless hero." Repeat _ad nauseam._

Pyrrha Nikos had long since disconnected her scroll after word got out that she'd been Jaune's partner at Beacon, lest she say something to a reporter she later (immediately) regretted. Some part of her was mildly annoyed that not _once_ had her name come up as a potential spouse, hell, not even a _concubine_ , for the King, but Yang assured her that this would make things easier for now. No paparazzi trying to dig up dirt on her, no cameras flashing every time she stepped outside. Right now, she needed to steal a march on the competition.

Just ignore the tabloids and keep your mind on The Plan, Pyrrha told herself. The Plan. The Plan. The Plan. She repeated it like a mantra in her head.

Uptown Vale was full of boutique stores with exotic one-word names that Pyrrha usually avoided, but Weiss had insisted on taking them out. The heiress alone had attire that would be suitable for a Coronation, and there was no way in hell she was letting Yang, Ruby or Nora pick out their own dresses. She'd swapped notes with Coco before setting off on the airship down to Vale, assuring her dominance in the runic ways of high fashion.

Weiss Schnee's own Plan - the Plan to Not Get Them Stopped at the Gate for Looking like Peasants - was derailed as soon as Blake insisted on joining Ren (and by extension Nora) in shopping for a new suit. Weiss reluctantly left Pyrrha, Yang and Ruby to their own devices while she dealt with Blake's sartorial statements, praying she could wrap things up fast enough before anyone else purchased anything.

Ren was easy to shop for. He was well-proportioned and familiar with the tailoring process, naturally inclined to a traditional, conservative style that neither Weiss nor the Palace could have any objection to. She railroaded him through the process before dispatching him to play babysitter for the rest of their dress-shopping teammates.

Blake, being Blake, could never be that easy….

She had style, Weiss gave her that. Monochromatic black-and-white. A white dress shirt against black dress pants, shoes, a vest and a skinny tie. Finding a jacket that could actually be tailored to her figure was a Herculean labor, one that had already consumed a full hour and was looking to finish off another.

"You look tense, Weiss," said Blake with a small grin, untying and re-tying her necktie with a surprisingly practiced ease. "Clothes shopping is supposed to be _your_ domain."

"I was operating under the assumption, however naïve of me, that you would be shopping for a _dress_ ," retorted Weiss, glancing at her scroll for updates on Operation Get Ruby Sexy Clothes. Last she'd heard, Ruby had walked into the change room of a lingerie store and proceeded to barricade herself there. She could feel the migraine gestating beneath her skull like a malevolent fetus.

"Is there a problem?" asked Blake coyly, straightening out the knot. Weiss had to admit the ensemble had potential. If she loosened up the collar, rolled up her sleeves it'd be… Weiss derailed that train of thought and returned to the problem at hand.

"You know it's not _me_ who has a problem, but whoever is checking our invites. The Atlasian nobility isn't exactly renowned for its progressiveness, and showing up in a suit is just asking for a fight." She paused. "Which, of course, you already know."

Blake _hmmmmmed_ noncommittally, before seeming to settle on a one-breasted jacket. They finally found a tailor who knew his way around the female form, and with only a few minor adjustments the cut would be suitable for Blake. The vest, to Weiss, worked, even if it was a little aggressive, but the jacket - _any jacket_ \- didn't. It wasn't right to cover up that torso with such an enveloping top, to submerge the curves and contours of her body with-

Weiss visible cocked her head sideways, like that thought was a drop of water stuck in her ear canal.

Blake glanced sideways at her, before unbuttoning the jacket and returning it to its hanger. "Don't like the lapels," she said, by way of explanation, prompting a distressed whimper from Weiss. A buzz from her scroll informed her that Ruby had last been seeing fleeing the department store clad in nothing but panties and a red cloak, and politely requesting that Weiss keep her eyes open for a little red blur before a very strange BOLO was issued.

"We're finishing this," announced Weiss imperiously, snatching up the half-dozen jackets Blake had yet to try and yanking the faunus into a change room. She hastily bolted the door behind her, trying very hard not to think about what anyone who'd just seen her would think, and turned her attention to Blake.

"Um, hi?" said Blake, glancing at Weiss perplexedly. The change room was only just large enough for the two of them to stand in without pressing against one another, something the faunus' breath on her skin was making her intimately aware of.

"That one will make you look like you're in the mafia, Blake," said Weiss, dismissing the first of the jackets immediately. She didn't know as much about men's fashion as, perhaps, Neptune (should she call him?), but she knew more than Blake. She ran her fingers up and down the next jacket, buying time. "You wore a dress to prom," she continued, trying to figure out what exactly her game plan was here.

"Sometimes I like dresses," replied Blake, her eyes darting up and down Weiss' own.

"You're trying to pick a fight." Weiss dismissed another jacket. She turned to face Blake, unbuttoning her shirt's cuffs and rolling the sleeves up to her elbows.

"I'm just trying to wear a suit," said Blake, pointedly doing nothing to stop Weiss.

"You're making a stand on principle."

"And that's such a bad thing?"

"It's… it's…" Weiss fumbled about for words, uncharacteristically. "You're going to miss Jaune's coronation, in exchange for which you get a mediocre suit."

Blake said nothing for a few seconds, letting Weiss loosen the knot in her tie and unbutton her collar. "They shouldn't have a problem with it."

Weiss snorted. "A lot of people shouldn't have problems with a lot of things, Blake. You know that better than anyone. It's not right, but it's not the White Fang or faunus slavery either. If you want to make a point of being blocked at the door I'll be with you one-hundred percent of the way. But you're going up against one of the most archaic institutions in all of Remnant. They _are_ going to stop you at the door. And I doubt we can just call Jaune and get him to let us in."

Weiss' hands were still lightly clutching Blake's collar, something the two girls realized at the same belated moment. Blake blushed momentarily as Weiss' hands shot back to the hem of her skirt.

"You like the suit," said Blake, once the moment of Peak Awkwardness had passed.

"I like the vest," corrected Weiss, stroking the black garment absent-mindedly. "And the shirt. And the tie. And the pants. The shoes are okay. But the jacket is absolutely-"

"Weiss?"

"Yes, Blake?"

In that moment, stretched out for infinity, Blake cupped Weiss' jaw in one large hand. Weiss said nothing, thought nothing, breathed nothing. A moment later, or maybe it was an eternity later, their lips were pressed together. They separated, only for Weiss to clutch Blake's vest and pull her back in. They stumbled in the close confines of the change room, Blake awkwardly pushing Weiss against a mirrored wall. They broke their second kiss, but Blake returned with a vengeance, kissing her way furiously up Weiss' exposed neck, her face, her jaw, back to her lips again.

"You like the suit," whispered Blake, as she kissed her way from shoulder to ear.

"I like _you_ , idiot," replied Weiss in a breathless murmur. The heiress groaned softly as Blake enveloped her waist in her arms, forcing their bodies together.

"Blake, please…"

"I'll play nice at the ceremony," promised Blake, as her hands drifted south into undiscovered territory. "Just not right now."

"I'll buy you a proper suit once this over," promised Weiss, when her lips weren't pressed against Blake's skin. "Not something Frankensteined from off-the-rack pieces… Something bespoke." Blake _hummed_ positively. "And if you feel like taking charge, I'll save you a dance."

\---------------------------------------------------------

The remaining Huntresses had an equally exhilarating time shopping, though their excitement came in the form of high-speed low-modesty chase sequences rather than development as characters, so the details can be skipped over. Suffice it to say that Ruby, Yang and Nora all found appropriately elegant dresses for a royal ball, and this Christmas every present from Yang was going to be scanty undergarments.

Weiss had had time to race over to the other end of the strip mall and save Pyrrha from her atrocious fashion sense (and find something Blake could wear without starting a scene). Her mind was admittedly elsewhere as she picked out something conservative for her faunus not-yet-girlfriend, but Blake accepted Weiss' choice without a murmur of complaint, even picking out of her own volition an appropriately-fashionable handbag as an accessory.

Pyrrha was harder, and it took Weiss and Yang's combined efforts to get her into something moderately eye-catching. Pyrrha shared the younger Ruby Rose's apprehension about anything considered 'high fashion', preferring the kind of nondescript dresses that would make one the perfect wallflower.

Weiss had to admit she was difficult to work with. Her proportions were near enough a runway model's, which was a small blessing, but she had the build of an athlete and coils of muscles to prove it, which Weiss was finding unexpectedly problematic. She hated to tell Pyrrha her muscles were making feminine attire hard to find the same hour she'd told Blake she couldn't wear a suit, lest she be tarred as some prejudiced hillbilly, but it was _true _. Reality was tactless and inconvenient.__

__She sighed. Yang sighed. Pyrrha looked distressed. The Plan, as Yang so eloquently put it, was to stop waiting for Prince Charming and get up and find him. The poor idiot was probably stuck in a tree (again). The Plan was to show up at the ball, steal a dance from the King, and blow the minds of (a) said King and (b) the entirety of the Second and Fourth estates. Catapult her onto the tabloids by sunrise. By sunset: oddsmakers' favorite to be the next Queen of Atlas. Blake, Weiss, Ren, Nora, Yang and Ruby all had prepared scripts they would gush about to any reporter with a microphone. Her grace. Her beauty. Her intellect. Her dedication. Her self-discipline. Photos of Pyrrha sparring. Exercising. Studying. Laughing. _Checkmate.__ _

__Weiss suppressed a scream of exasperation as Pyrrha walked out of the change room for the _n_ th time, in a dress that did wonders for her cleavage and absolutely nothing else. If the damned woman had just had the sense to make a move on Jaune before Kings and Crowns got involved they could have avoided headaches all around, cursed Weiss, internally and almost externally. Then she remembered Sun, and the crater his body had made, and the pitiful way he'd called out for Neptune, and tactfully decided _not_ to voice that particular sentiment._ _

__"Do we say…. Jaune will love her in whatever she's wearing?" whispered Yang conspiratorially, as Pyrrha stepped once more into the breach that was the change room._ _

__"If that man-child had two working eyes and the same number of brain cells he'd have clued in a lot sooner," murmured Weiss in reply. Honestly, were it not for his constant passes at her Weiss would've assumed he was gay a long time ago. "Jaune will be surrounded by women who will do _anything_ for him, no hesitation, no reservation. Supermodels, actresses, high-end call girls. Money like that buys you a lot of friends. And I hate to say it but if he's not sleeping with a maid by this time he'll be abandoning a proud royal tradition."_ _

"Not… helping…" grunted Yang through gritted teeth, as Pyrrha returned once more. It was a three out of five, tight-fitting in the right places, backless and high-slitted, but lacking a certain _je ne sais quoi_. 

__"That's it!" exclaimed Weiss with an enthusiasm she scarcely felt._ _

__"It is?" asked Pyrrha and Yang in stereo._ _

__"Mm-hm," lied Weiss, biting her cheek. "We just need a few accessories. New shoes. Opera gloves. Undergarments." Ruby, who'd taken that opportunity to check in with how they were doing, let out a distressed whimper, which Pyrrha subconsciously echoed._ _

__"This is the burn, Pyrrha," insisted Yang, grimacing at the price tag. "You're a Huntress, and you know what you're hunting now. Are you going to be happy with Jaune?"_ _

__"Y-yes."_ _

__"And is he going to be happy with you?"_ _

__"I… I think so."_ _

This was not leading up to the _ooh-rah_ moment Yang had been looking for, but she ran with it nonetheless. 

__"This is the Big Leagues now, Pyrrha, and they play for keeps there. Maybe Jaune, dumber than a bag of rocks, didn't make the move when you wanted him to. But sometimes life's a bitch. If this is what you want, all that's left is to figure out how to make the shitty gods of Fate hand you a glass of lemonade."_ _

__Weiss looked at her as if she'd just started speaking in tongues, which admittedly she'd always wanted to be able to do. Pyrrha just looked glum, though. "Jaune's…. not dumb. Just a little slow. Right Yang?.... Weiss?....Ruby?"_ _

__"He's nice?" offered Ruby apologetically. "But you were about as subtle as Magnhild and he still missed you entirely."_ _

__"Determining Jaune's strengths and weaknesses is not the point of The Plan," growled Yang, trying to get everyone's head back in the game. "Pyrrha wants Jaune. Weiss wants Jaune to want Pyrrha. I want to be a bridesmaid at a Royal Wedding. And Ruby wants to be the flower girl."_ _

___"Hey-"_ _ _

__"And quite frankly all this moaning and self-doubt is beginning to annoy me _just a little_. Pyrrha, if you want Jaune to be yours, you're going to have to leap mountains and ford rivers. This isn't a fairy tail, Jaune's no Prince Charming, and you're definitely not Cinderella. If you want a happy ending by Dust you're going to have to earn it."_ _

__The pep talk…call to arms?.... left everyone in the boutique silent. It wasn't invigorating. Hell, it wasn't even particularly inspirational. But it had grit, and that was what they needed right now. Ruby stopped looking at her shoes. Weiss stopped biting her lip. Pyrrha looked up, for the first time in weeks, with a steely resolve behind her emerald-green eyes._ _

__"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you're making quite a scene," intruded a wizened cashier, who looked vaguely familiar for some reason. "I'm going to have to ask you to pay for your purchases and leave."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to god this was meant to be the set-up for a zany Jaune Arc harem fic. As I'm writing it I think 'wouldn't it be funny to have Pyrrha repeat some of Carolina's dialogue from Red vs. Blue, a little Easter Egg as they share the same voice actress' (Jen Brown). And then I rewatch the RvB episode where it's spoken and find it's probably one of most emotionally powerful scenes in the whole series. And then I realize that makes this story a lot more serious than I'd envisioned. So this sat on my harddrive for a while (months?) before I finally decided to just post it and see what happens. Maybe my ability to write emotional drama has improved minutely. 
> 
> Anyways, any advice, feedback, guidance would be greatly appreciated. Not sure if/how to continue the story. Have some vague plans for romance involving Weiss, Pyrrha, Velvet and a possible OC, while trying to be more complicated than just 'x number of girls fall for a guy who is too inept/oblivious/hapless/wimpy to resolve anything'. More along the lines of 'characters must balance their duties in life with their hearts' desires', which was probably a Gilbert and Sullivan play.


End file.
